


A Child Alone

by Sherlock1110



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Child Neglect, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidlock, Protective Big Brother Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 16:19:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4398851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft returns from school and for some reason distances himself from his younger brother. What will Sherlock do when he gets ill?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Child Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read sherlockian4evr

Sherlock was curled up in a ball on his bed, he was leant against the wall and had his duvet wrapped around his shoulders, shivering madly.

For 7 years old Sherlock was incredibly intelligent and because of that he found trouble like fish found water. He was addicted to the gruesome things he found outside and in return was ill; coughing and sneezing, shivering and freezing. He would no doubt get over it and it wasn't life threatening but he usually had Mycroft. He had long since understood his parents didn't care, father was always away on business and mother would just slam his bedroom door open when he coughed too loudly and yell at him to be quiet before slamming the door again. 

Sherlock knew that Mycroft wouldn't come this time. He was too busy. He was always too busy. He blamed it on the amount of homework he had, but Sherlock knew otherwise. He just didn't want his freaky kid brother around anymore. Sherlock had gotten used to that. Mycroft had been on school holiday for 4 days and he hadn't seen his older brother more than twice in that time. At least that was what Sherlock assumed it was. He'd come back some time ago from the boarding school in East Sussex and Sherlock had had 4 visits from his tutor. Dull as they were, he'd learnt to control the amount of 'bored' comments he verbalised. 

He sneezed again which lead to a coughing fit. He tried to get a handle on it so mother wouldn't come yelling, but he was struggling. And now he needed the toilet. He coughed again and shuffled to the edge of the bed. He dropped his duvet and held onto the wall to steady himself from the dizzy spell. He wished Mycroft were here. Mycroft always knew what to do. He sat back on the bed again as a wave of nausea came over him. 

It was a painfully long time before Sherlock had managed to get back from the bathroom. He was lucky in the respect that he had an ensuite like the other main bedrooms. It was one less thing to be noisy about. He shuffled back to his bed and clambered on top, wrapping himself back up and leaning his head back against the wall. 

He knew his face was pale. He'd glanced at the mirror in the bathroom, not for long, but long enough to clarify how bad he looked. He didn't feel much better. His throat was raw as he coughed again and he tightened his grip around his knees and then looked up startled when his bedroom door opened. 

It was no doubt mummy coming to tell him off for being too loud. That's all she ever did; tell him off. He pressed his face to his knees to mask his most recent coughing fit and to hide from the rebuke that was imminent. 

There was no yell, instead there were footsteps across the carpet of his bedroom and then the bed dipped next to him and there was a hand in his sweaty curls. 

Mummy wouldn't do that… she wouldn't touch him any way that could be resembled close to comforting… that meant… 

Red puffy eyes looked up to see his older brother, his usual mask of impassiveness replaced by something that resembled concern. 

“I'm sorry,” Sherlock choked. 

“Sorry, little brother? What for?” he very rarely got an apology from the boy let alone for no reason.

“Disturbing you.”

He coughed again and Mycroft rubbed his back in small circles. 

“Sherlock, why didn't you come and find me if you were unwell?”

The younger Holmes brother moved away from the dip in the mattress so he was further up the bed and had a larger distance between the older boy and himself. 

“Sherlock?” The concern had spread from his face to his voice now. “You always come and find me when you're not feeling well. I make you hot cocoa and we snuggle up.”

Sherlock was attempting to hide tears now. What? Why? He didn't understand so he didn't answer, just buried his face back in the comfort blanket he still fell asleep with. Mother always took it off him whenever she caught him with it- 7 is too old to be hugging such things -she would always say. It always appeared back on his bed before he was ready for sleep though. 

The bed dipped once more and Mycroft was next to him again, his hand around his shoulders. 

“Sherlock? Why didn't you come and find me?” He repeated. 

“You were busy.”

“Not when you're unwell.”

“How would I know the difference? You haven't spoken to me since you got back from The East.”

Mycroft stiffened at that comment. “I won't always be here, Sherlock. As you grow up you'll realise what school is like and how important it is.”

“I never said it wasn't important. That's why I didn't come and find you. You were busy and you made it perfectly clear that your younger brother was nothing but a hindrance.”

“You're right. I shouldn't have stayed away. But that doesn't mean you're a hindrance, ‘Lock. You're my little brother. I'll never be too busy if you're ill or upset. I've always been here since you were in nappies. You know, the wet nurse could never quieten you down when you were sad? She would always come and find me, and I was only the age you are now.”

Sherlock sneezed and shivered. Mycroft wrapped the duvet around him tighter and held him close. He pulled his mad head of curls to rest under his chin and he ran his hand up and down his arm. Sherlock was running his cheek along his blanket and Mycroft smiled down at him. Mentally his younger brother was as advanced as he was himself at that age, but emotionally he was so much younger. 

“Do you want a cup of cocoa?”

“What about mummy?”

“Don't worry about her. She's out for the night with Mrs. Donovan.”

Sherlock screwed his face up at that name. Neither of the boys liked her very much. 

“Come on little brother, let's get you all snuggled and we can curl up in the cinema with hot cocoa and marshmallows. How does that sound?”

Sherlock's head rubbed up and down his neck as he nodded his ascent. 

Mycroft stood up and then leaned over to pick the sneezing boy up.

“Oh, Sherlock, I should have come in sooner. I'm sorry, little brother.”

The younger boy curled into Mycroft's side wrapping his arms around his neck and sniffing like only a child would. Because that is exactly what Sherlock was. A child.


End file.
